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The Gamer Chapter 1521 – The Rules of the Tournament
🕑 Added 2023-09-18 18:55:11 +0000 UTCLuna was sent to the Azure Tribe, while Sol went to direct the leadership of Fusion into a side room. While his loves attended to the two guilds that would be fighting, Romulus himself excused himself to a third room for the duration of the recess. He would be the coordinator between the two factions, taking into account their wishes for how this tournament was going to be put together.
The remainder of the Divided Gates were, for the duration of the recess, dismissed.
The room they entered was, as far as those within the imperial palace went, plain. A rectangular space, barely bigger than the average classroom, with a few seats along the walls and a few attached side spaces that could be used as offices. Likely, this was where, on normal days, the administration of Rome itself let common people approach them with their issues.
“What kind of tournament would you prefer?” Sol asked immediately.
“Combat,” the Gamer responded just as quickly.
In the absence of knowing what exactly this Azure Tribe was capable of, John trusted in his harem’s capacity to beat them to a pulp. Any games or comparably rules-governed competition bore the potential of them whipping out some Innate Ability that was specifically perfect for this specific thing. Better to just compete in the good old arena of violence.
“Just combat…?” Sol asked almost disapprovingly.
“You heard my mate,” Nathalia growled at the sun-blonde goddess, who swiftly shot the redhead a glare. In a moment in which a metaphor turned literal meaning, sparks flew where volcanic and solar divinity clashed in the air. Undine did everyone the favour of putting out the resulting smoulders.
“What your breeding boy says is…” Sol stopped herself with a sigh, “…incredibly important as of this moment.” The sun goddess turned to John. “Can you shut her up somehow?”
“I mean… there is a way, but as funny as it would be, I don’t think this is a situation with the necessary levity,” John told her drily.
“Ah,” Sol pinched the bridge of her nose, “should have known the only way to stuff that insolent hole would be through insolent action.” For a moment, she froze in the little circular motions of her hand. “The Azure Tribe agrees to a tournament of pure combat.” The disapproval was back. “You people lack any sort of appreciation for games.”
“Do I?” the Gamer asked drily. “Do I really?”
Momo whistled, getting everyone’s attention. “Can we stop the entire ‘going all over the place’ thing and get this sorted? What kind of combat are we talking here? Single elimination? Best of 3? Group fights? Single combat?”
“You ask questions when you are the ones to decide,” Sol responded, struggling to maintain a diplomatic tone. “This is your tournament, your way to agree on a way to force the other party into submission. What would you prefer?”
A difficult question. Fundamentally, John believed they were best served by a group fight. Between their love and the amount of hours they had spent together Raiding, the harem’s coordination was near unparalleled. That being said, their enemies were made from the same sand. Perhaps group fights were not the best, especially if…
“Let’s clear up who can attend first,” John asked. “If I were to enter, my elementals are fair game, doubtlessly? They are extensions of myself, after all.”
“I don’t see any reasonable way they could be denied,” Sol agreed.
“My Artificial Spirits? Under the rules of the tournament for Rex Germaniae’s crown, I was allowed one of them.”
“This would be subject to negotiation. Your Artificial Spirits are absurdly powerful.”
‘So are my elementals,’ John thought, but did not push the envelope more than he had to at this point. “Then the most important question: are the gods of Fusion also allowed to fight?” Nathalia and Eliana crossed their arms in anticipation of an answer. Nightingale only observed quietly. She was a powerful goddess, but not one specialized in fighting. In a direct confrontation between her and many of the haremettes of John’s level, he would have favoured the one on John’s level for victory – although Nightingale getting away was the most likely outcome of any fight. She’d just shroud her enemy’s senses and fly away.
“You are fighting the Father of Arcane,” Sol declared plainly, “but let me just double check this for you…” For almost a full minute, the sun goddess stood in telepathic communication with her summoner and fellow celestial. Finally, she said, “The Azure Tribe protests against your usage of Artificial Spirits, but is fine with all gods attending.”
‘That makes things easier,’ the Gamer thought. Single fights were more attractive when Nathalia and Eliana were in the mix. “Foreign aid should be barred,” John requested.
“Do we not suffer more from that than them?” Momo asked. “We have a whole lot more friends – powerful friends.”
“To a degree, but I have no idea what the Purest Front holds in the back of their hand, nor do I care to find out what everyone else is willing to send into the field. This is already too chaotic as it is,” John declared. “Here’s my suggestion: their seven against seven fighters of my choosing from within Fusion’s ranks.”
“You have their agreement that far,” Sol informed the Gamer.
“To keep the playing fields even, I insist that the fighters be drawn from a hat – proverbial or literal, I don’t care,” the Gamer continued. “They have the information advantage and I won’t let them choose their favourite matchups as they like. Winner determined by surrender or Fateweaving trigger. The loser is removed from the hat. Whoever runs out of fighters first loses their right to the empty seat.”
Sol fell silent, information flowing back and forth. She clicked her tongue. “You are both exceptionally dull,” she complained. “They agree. My Romulus suggests an additional rule, however. Do you remember the capacity of the coliseum to simulate different environments?”
“Yes,” John confirmed with a nod. It hadn’t come into effect in terribly many of the engagements, at least not in a way that mattered, but it had definitely been a thing that happened. “What about it?”
“We suggest that we do something similar here. A simple randomizing factor. We will have to prepare individual barriers for every fight anyhow. A competition of this magnitude cannot be contained by the coliseum.”
John remembered what had happened when Thana and Romulus had clashed within the coliseum last time and nodded. Breaking the recently repaired structure through repeated clashes of titans indeed felt like a terrible idea. Then, he shrugged. “Works for me. We’ll draw an environment after the fighters.”
Sol displayed the first sign of being pleased at those words. “Wonderful, some unpredictability in this, at least.”
The remainder of the negotiations were simple clarifications.
When would the tournament begin? In two days, on Thursday the 18th. A day would be required to drum up the proper amount of Fateweavers and prepare the Protected Spaces. Lee offered her services to that end, but was rejected due to conflict of interest concerns.
How would the fights be spaced out? Each individual bout would last up to 30 minutes. If the timer reached 0, a jury of members of the Dangun Clan would decide on the victor, since they had been the only ones to refrain from taking a side. A draw was part of the potential outcomes. Between each fight was a thirty-minute break. Enough time for some to recuperate should their name be drawn twice in a row – for the most part, anyhow.
Would there be bad luck protection? Dealing with unforeseen circumstances was part of being a member of the Divided Gates and since being drawn twice or thrice in a row implied they had won the previous fights, it was deemed that such bad strokes of fate would be acceptable.
How many fights per day? Five.
How long would the tournament take? Up to four days. If neither side had managed to fully knock out the enemy by the end, a mathematical improbability of immense proportions, the team that had more fighters left at the end won. Regardless, the winner would be given their place on the table Sunday evening, with the appropriate fanfare.
After recess ended, Romulus explained all of this to the public quickly. Then it came time for the last piece of announcement. “The rules have been agreed upon,” Romulus declared. “And with those rules comes the responsibility to choose your combatants. Azure Tribe, show us your faces, so that we may be certain that those you show today will be those who stand on the battlefield.”
“Acceptable,” Arkan stated robotically.
The six other crimson cowls stepped forwards, one after another pulling the obscuring cloth from their heads.
First revealed was an entity with a smooth, porcelain mask for a face. The material was tinged in various colours by veins of arcane mana travelling through it at different frequencies. He executed a jittery bow, segments of the mask rising and falling in various tetragons. The head behind the mask was metal, covered in criss-cross streams of the arcane sands. “Malot, my name.”
Second was a woman. Her ephemeral, blue hair cascaded downwards, once freed from cowl and hood, falling all the way to her thighs. It had the colour of something that belonged into space, brighter than the summer sky, and glowing from within even as it turned translucent around the edges. It framed a face of blueish white, remarkably human compared to her compatriots – human and gorgeous. Her light blue lips were stretched in a cruel smile, her radiant eyes glowed in search of a target. John was instantly reminded of Siena. “Karia.”
Third revealed was a face of stainless Mithril, formed carefully into masculine features. In that unmoving, hairless mask sat two eyes of constantly streaming grains, concentrating in irises of focused energy. The silver-white lips did not move when he introduced himself. “Laurence.”
Fourth was the bulkiest figure. Once the obscuring enchantment was lifted, his height became plainly apparent, standing head and shoulders above Arkan. Easily 2,10 metres tall, this man had a head consisting nearly entirely of tiny metal segments interlocking, forming the shape of a rudimentary helmet. Save for the simplicity of it, and the body of sand underneath the metal, it gave John unpleasant flashbacks to Arkeidos. The man slammed his fists together, causing arcane sparks to fly. “Singed!”
Fifth was an odd one even among the Azure Tribe. Her face was an oddly elongated, smooth chin protruding and skull extending backwards, almost like a Xenomorph. Unlike the creature from Alien, there was no maw, though. The surface of the skull was entirely smooth, save for a pair of eye sockets filled by empty white, no iris or pupil within. Framing the face was an asymmetrical display of coral-like horns that extended backwards in the place of hair and even ears. “Liakan.”
Sixth and last of the line moved slowly, so slowly it caused a few whispers among the onlookers. When he had revealed himself, he seemed entirely out of place. On his metal face, created from interlocking plates, were large patches of rust. Beard and hair were of silver and black mana, streaming uselessly outwards, constantly flaking into particles of energy that crackled. “O-or…” He stopped halfway through the sentence, eyelids falling shut and opening again, like a mechanically adjusted window. “Orkos…”
Arkan stepped forwards, his own features of half-hovering, half-connected segments of metal moving fluidly as he spoke. In some places, the metal stretched and condensed impossibly, in others the shifting grains of sands moved the plates, creating the facsimile of lips moving the proper way, despite there being no real lips to speak of. “And I, Arkan.”
“The Azure Tribe has announced their fighters. Now, John Newman, select the seven to match them.”
John first stepped forwards himself. “I, John Newman, nominate myself…”
It was the easiest choice. With his elementals, he was a force to be reckoned with and, unlike old times, his defences were so high these days that basic counter strategies were largely nullified. His summoner build had come online completely a long time ago, and even if his arcane spells would do little against these enemies, he was confident he could take one of them on.
“…Nathalia…”
The goddess of volcanoes (and perhaps the biggest reason why not fighting in the coliseum was prudent) stepped forwards. Her heel hit the ornate ground and the entire city shivered in a casual demonstration of her might. Crossing her arms, the scale-covered bombshell of a tall woman glared across the table, ignoring the various world leaders that sat between them, and simply expressed with her eyes what an annoyance the Azure Tribe was being.
“…Eliana…”
The failed goddess walked forwards, hands bunched into fists. Next to Nathalia, she looked so small, but the aura she leaked with every moment she spent in close proximity to Mengele made clear she was anything but insignificant. Growling like a wounded wolf, she concentrated wholly on her hated creator. She would fight to the utmost, if not to aid John, then to wipe out any plans the leader of the Purest Front had.
“…Beatrice…”
The passive maid stepped forwards. One of the harems greatest duellists, she had been the logical choice for one of his combatants. She did not have the intensity of emotions to display either Nathalia’s irreverent look or Eliana’s soul-rending stare. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her lap and diligently waited. She would have her time to fight her Master’s enemies soon enough.
“…Nia…”
The second Maiden of Null appeared next to Beatrice and John imagined he could see the collective line of arcane elementals slightly flinch. To send the most powerful anti-magic entity in the entire world against enemies of pure magic was the most logical decision in the world. One after the other, the pariah analysed the Azure Tribe, already looking for weaknesses.
“…Jane…”
Rolling her neck and shoulders, Rave walked forwards with bouncy steps. The dress she had worn to this official event suddenly seemed a bit out of place, but the Gamer’s fiancée moved in it as if it was entirely appropriate for a battlefield. Grinning and cracking her knuckles, the feline Lightbearer showed her excitement.
“…and Metra.”
The First of Wrath walked up to her visual half-sister. Rex Magnar resting on her shoulder, she showed her fangs. Choosing her for this competition was as easy as choosing Nia and Eliana had been. When it came to their 1 on 1 fighters, Metra was ever so steadily approaching the point where she would even beat Eliana at her best. Direct combat was her domain.
In the back of his head, John felt a minor annoyance from the one eligible fighter of his harem that was excluded. Aclysia had been skipped over in this selection, because, for all the strength and sturdiness she could bring to the table, she was slow. When it came to duels, her battle plan simply was not as flexible as the others’. Similarly, Claire was too dependent on outside factors, like the time of day, and better built for subterfuge. Momo was a support and therefore incapable of keeping up at this level of direct combat.
“Then the seven fighters of each side have been chosen!” Romulus declared. “Arkan, Malot, Karia, Laurence, Singed, Liakan, and Orkos for the Azure Tribe against John, Nathalia, Eliana, Beatrice, Nia, Rave, and Metra of Fusion.”
And thus the waiting began.
Comments
Marko
Amazing tension
Cal
Yet another instance like the proposal where you've done such a good job of setting up an event, building the tension and suspense, that it's incredibly difficult to bear the wait for each new chapter. It's not quite a full tournament arc, but it's a nice callback, and I eagerly await the conflict.
